


Always, Forever

by mansikka



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Haunting, Love, M/M, Minor Violence, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: When the 118 gets called to an old abandoned house on Halloween, Buck and Eddie go missing. As the team searches for them, they only have each other to rely on. Though are they really alone down there in dark, or even trying hard enough to find their way out? And why do they keep replaying memories that are not their own, made in that house so many years before?
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Here is a multi-POV Halloween-flavoured Buddie getting-together story posting once a week for five weeks. Please see the tags; there is a little violence and a little haunting, and I can't find a tag that adequately says _sad back story with a hopeful/happy-ish ending_ , but it has that too. Happy reading!

**The House**

The air tastes of old, and stillness. Every step means a creaking board, every breath an intrusion that is too loud. The light coming in is muted by the thick layer of dirt on the window glass, and everything is covered in an inch of dust. No one has been in here for almost a full year. Almost to the day. Is it this particular day that always draws them back?

There are six boys, ranging from almost-pubescent to growing the first few hairs on their chins. Their faces aren't filled in yet, and their voices still cracking in places. They are children, who think coming here is a game.

This house is not a game. It is old and wizened, decades of history seeped into its walls and floors. Sometimes echoes of the people who have called this place home roam the rooms, landings, and creaking staircase. Sometimes their presence is little but a whisper, a reminder of what once was before the building was abandoned. On other days these echoes are solid, with footsteps, muted voices, and all kinds of emotions begging to be let out.

The boys can feel them. It is obvious from the cautious way they walk, and how quickly their flashlight beams scatter across the floor at the slightest of sounds. Maybe they can see them too, vague outlines amongst the dust motes and unblinking eyes that monitor their every move. Either way, they are being followed, unaware of how they are being separated into different corners of the house.

There are two on the uppermost floor which once housed an unofficial overflow from a local orphanage. Two more are exploring the first floor, one in the living room to the left, and the other in the kitchen on the right. And the last two are in the wide, echoing hall, one staring at an old faded portrait that he swears smells of fresh paint. It is the final boy who will trigger the fate that is going to befall them. If only it wasn't already too late to warn him.

His foot goes through the first step of the stairs as he starts to climb, hands bracing against higher steps that crumble against his palms. As he screams, his body falls through the staircase into a chasm of the house below, where he groans in agony for the solidness of hitting the floor. Bones poke holes through his body, both those of ones who came before him and his own. And it is here that he realizes how alone he really isn't, whispers and voices fascinated by new company closing in all around. He calls to his friends, hearing their voices muted as they plead with him to come back.

Everything falls silent, for the breath in his ear, and the firm clasp of a hand around his arm. And the last thing any of his friends hear from him is a high-pitched, piercing scream that tails off into an agonized wail as it echoes all around the house.

* * *

**Buck**

As Bobby calls them to the table to eat, Buck rolls up the last of the fire hoses and stacks it, watching Eddie polish the side of one of the firetrucks with a final flourish. Buck catches his eye, sure he sees his eyes crinkle even across the space between them, nodding when Eddie holds up his hands gesturing he's going to wash up. Buck goes straight up to the kitchen, standing over the sink grabbing the liquid soap there, and having an eyebrow raised and waiting for Bobby's comments.

"If you didn't want us to wash up in this sink, why would you provide us with soap here?"

Bobby has retorts, several of them, all spoken at volume with his answering eyebrow raise. Though none of them get said out loud for his face softening at the sound of Athena's voice behind them.

"I just thought I'd pop by, see how my favorite crew is doing this fine Halloween."

"So far, not too bad," Bobby says, turning his head for a kiss even as he transfers bowls of salad and bread from the kitchen counter to the dining table.

Buck gets a one-armed hug before he sits, Bobby beating him to it to pull Athena's chair out for her.

"You feeling better, Buck?" Athena asks. Buck is sure if the table wasn't so wide she would be leaning across it to press the back of her hand against his forehead. He had a bad cold last week, bad enough for him to have to sit a couple of jobs out. He'd been so overwhelmed by his foggy brain and fever that the world around him just stopped. He should have just gone home when Bobby told him, though when has Buck ever not been stubborn and pushed himself too hard? Besides, Eddie showed up at his apartment with an entire pharmacy counter of cold remedies and a huge Tupperware bowl of soup from Abuela after that shift. Buck always feels like he can take anything when reminded how much a part of the Diaz family he's become.

Eddie joins them then, first giving Athena a quick hug and then pulling out a chair and slumping down beside Buck. He knocks his knee against Buck's, so he knows to look, giving him a silent, _you okay?_ when he does.

Buck nods, filling both their glasses with water. He _is_ better. A little tired, and the slightest tickle in the back of his throat, but otherwise almost back to normal. Not that he's against a little fussing.

Chim and Hen join them then, jogging around the table for hugs with Athena then pulling out their chairs and attacking the food on display like they're ravenous.

"Anything fun out there today?" Hen asks, translating Chim's question because he already has his mouth half full.

"We have a guy in custody who has no business even being there." Athena does not sound happy about it. Buck pushes the dish of bread closer to her catching Eddie's eyes as he takes a piece to wipe his plate. She popped in to say hi on what was supposed to be a lunch break, but so far, she has barely touched her food.

"What's he in for?" Bobby asks. Buck doesn't miss the pleased dart of his eyes over Eddie's plate covered in the last few splashes of sauce from his first helping. Bobby tried a new recipe today, put to work a rack of spices May and Harry found him at a farmer's market. Buck is about to start on his second plate for how good it is.

"Loitering and offensive behavior. I don't know how, though. The guy was just stood outside this old abandoned house on his own damn street, yelling for all his worth about not letting anyone go in. I heard him over the radio. Happens every year, according to his records."

"Something about the house?" Eddie asks around a mouthful of bread and sauce. And he calls Buck a savage when he eats sometimes. Buck knocks his leg against Eddie's, clenching his jaw so he doesn't smile so hard when Eddie looks at him in reproach.

"Seems so. Guy lived on the street when he was a kid. Went away to college, took over the family home when his parents moved away. Been outside that house every year leading up to Halloween since he got back. That's five years."

"Something happen to him in this house?" Buck asks since that seems the only explanation. He can already picture this house, in a way. He and Maddie knew an abandoned house near theirs when they were kids, one all the kids in his class used to dare each other to sneak into over the weekend. Buck never did, both for not having too many friends to go with, and always being creeped out by the place.

Athena sighs, twirling spaghetti around her fork, unaware of how Bobby is nearly pouting because she isn't eating that much. "I don't know. I know that when I left, this guy was just wretched. Crying out for help, nobody answering. Someone was supposed to come down and see him; I'm hoping by the time I get back he'll have help. Or have been let out."

"So, he's no threat to anyone," Bobby says.

"Only himself. He needs someone to listen to him, not lock him in a room. I should get back out there," Athena says then, gracefully rising from her seat then tilting Bobby's chin on her palm for a kiss. She has soft goodbyes for everyone and then her footfall is ringing out on the stairs. Eddie takes one look around them then scoops Athena's untouched food on to his own plate. Third helping.

"You planning on looking like a pumpkin, Eddie?" Chim says as he watches him eat. Eddie grins at him with his mouth full earning him a chorus of _ews_ and _gross_ from around the table. He looks so proud of himself when he looks at Buck that Buck can't help smiling back. Chim then does the same, earning him a shove from Hen along witg a scowl. This is why Chim is perfect for Maddie, they both have the same odd sense of humor. The dinners she ruined for Buck as a kid by doing similar, honestly, it's a surprise Buck enjoys eating at all.

"Well. It is Halloween," Eddie says, taking another piece of bread when Buck offers him it. Since Eddie started going to an MMA gym he is really bulking out. He looks good. Really, really good, filling out all his shirts and pants in all the good places. Not that Buck is paying attention, obviously.

Eddie's attempts at pumpkin status are then interrupted for the call alarm. He shoves more bread in his mouth before standing, clasping Buck's shoulder before he chases Chim down the stairs with his arms wide making Hulk noises. Buck loves his team. They're all oddballs at times. Is it any wonder he fits right in?

* * *

**The House**

They have more visitors. More curious explorers traipsing paths up the stairs and through the halls. The rooms of the house are peered into and mocked for their untouched state, images of them captured to be looked at again elsewhere. Sometimes the house hopes one of its occupants would appear on these images, to frighten intruders into submission once and for all so no one ever came back.

All these years people have come here, people who even search for the house's former inhabitants as though they are some kind of spectacle. The house is angry; on their behalf, at the indifference of those who do not wish to defend this home, former or otherwise. The house does what it can, adding extra echoes when visitors call out or laugh in joy for being frightened. It slams doors hoping to scare them off, only knowing fresh anger when they stand their ground and only stare with glee.

Decades have passed since these walls were lived in. The house has no concern about being unloved. Though it still feels the despair in the hearts of those who once took breakfast in the backyard, or read by candlelight under blankets in the front room. It is powerless. And since those with any sort of power have done nothing to stop this invasion for those decades, there is little the house can do but sit and watch. Every year, the same week, the same evening, the house listens out for footfall and braces for a fresh disturbance.

Why won't they fight back?

The house knows. The house feels. Three decades previous, the anger rising in its long-gone residents for their home being used as some sort of freakish entertainment had tumbled a teenager to their death. The house had rejoiced, though the residents had known sorrow. They had gathered around the boy hoping to comfort him in his final moments, only teaching him more fear. So now no one reacts when people come calling. Now no one does a thing except idly watch from cracks and corners as this house, once stately and glorious in all its decorations and furnishings, is studied like an exhibit that will be forgotten the moment they step outside again.

Perhaps this year will be different. The house knows its own rage as three men, drunk, titter and bicker in a corner goading one another to explore its rooms alone. If only they would explore in silence. If only they would look their fill and be gone. These men are now in the kitchen, the smell of something flammable filtering through the mustiness of the air. Flames begin to lick up the walls for cabinets doused in something vile smelling. The house blasts open its windows in an attempt to stifle the flames, though does nothing but fan them. And finally, finally, the former occupants of the house know their own fury at being disturbed, yet again.

The men are laughing, running through the house away from their destruction, unaware that they are being trailed. And guided. There are rooms in this house that have always been hidden. Some walls have passages behind them mere visitors wouldn't know exist. One by one, the men are herded, cornered into a crevice on the landing, their laughter turning to screams as they realize they are trapped. Screams turn to tears, and anguish filled regret, as their bodies break and crack.

The house knows victory and triumph. This is the second round of fresh life in its floors and walls today, joyous as it feels more of its residents stretch and wake. This fire will attract more visitors. More who will tread its stairs and walk its halls. The house can barely wait.

* * *

**Buck**

The 118 is covered in Halloween decorations. Spider and pumpkin streamers are draped around the banisters and down the stairs, with silhouettes of bats and black cats covering most of the surfaces. There are buckets of candy everywhere. The kids of all crew members who would otherwise miss out on seeing their parents for Halloween night are spread over the couches and various piles of throws covering the floor in front of them, stuffing their faces while engrossed in some kid's horror movie.

Buck had the idea to have everyone here, unable to deal with the look of disappointment when Christopher found out they couldn't go trick and treating. Between that, and the look of guilt on Eddie's face for letting his son down, Buck's need to fix things came out in full force. It's worth it for the grins on all the kids' faces, and how Karen and other parents who have agreed to be here are happily chatting in a corner having a great time themselves.

Buck has mixed feelings about working Halloween. He loves the range of costumes they get to see, and the accidents people get themselves into tend to be more minor things that are manageable and hilarious in equal part. He doesn't enjoy so much how Halloween night means some people forget there is a thing called traffic that they shouldn't walk out into when distracted by Halloween paraphernalia everywhere. He is thankful they haven't had a call for someone being hit so far this evening, but it does make the roads harder to maneuver the truck through when there are impromptu Halloween parties all around. Though for getting to see all the crew kids enjoying themselves even as they receive yet another call to go out, Buck doesn't think he minds too much. Especially for Christopher insisting on hugs from both him and Eddie before they run for the fire truck.

Buck strains his ear to listen to the radio as they drive, trying to hear where they are headed next. Bobby turns to tell them the moment the call disconnects.

"Old abandoned house. Someone thinks they heard someone fall through the stairs, another call reported a fire."

"In the stairs?"

"Dispatcher said the calls were pretty vague."

"We're sure this isn't a prank call?" Chim asks, and he's right to. This year hasn't been so bad so far, but last year there were no less than thirteen prank calls. Buck remembers every one, and the number, and how Eddie teased him for being superstitious when he mentioned it.

"Two calls came in for the same property. The first was about this fall, and the second about a possible fire."

The house is old, almost like it has been deliberately dressed up for Halloween. Buck doesn't like the look of it at all when they pull up but says nothing for knowing he'll attract at least a little mockery.

Visibility is next to zero when they walk through the front door. Even with their flashlight beams, it is hard to make out much of anything, partially for the billowing back smoke.

"The fire is apparently in the kitchen. Chim, Hen, you take a look."

On Buck's third sweep of his flashlight over the stairs, he sees it, a large section just above the first step crumbled and appearing folded in on itself. Buck nudges his arm against Eddie's the moment Bobby gives their instructions, the two of them peering down through the hole.

"I can't even see the bottom of this thing," Eddie says as he drops to his knees careful not to disturb the stairs any more than they have to. Buck follows the beam of Eddie's flashlight and agrees that there is nothing they can easily see.

"Think this is dry rot or something?"

"Not really. Why's it only this section gone? The rest of this all feels pretty secure." Eddie demonstrates by shoving the heel of his hand against a higher step, none of it moving. Though when Buck follows his lead and kneels on the other side of the hole, the entire staircase trembles beneath them. He calls out as he begins to fall through, clasping at air as he tries to grasp on to something, feeling Eddie grab his arm as he tumbles as well.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**The House**

Something is different about the two additions to the house. It can feel them, their fear and confusion as they wake. They aren't broken like the others. And their first instinct is to seek each other out instead of thinking of themselves and their personal need to escape. They came here only to help others, and instead have come to harm. The house almost wishes it had ways to help, though its resources are limited. It watches as, though dazed, they crawl towards one another from where they fell, looking for injuries and giving relieved smiles in the darkness when they know the other is okay.

The residents are fascinated, abandoning the men who would have burned this building down without intervention. They swoop in, watching from the shadows as the two men first clutch at one another, and then start talking of finding a way out. They won't, not from this room hidden beneath the house, where the last person to die here fell some thirty years ago. Regret seeps in from the residents, for knowing the two men will soon discover old bones, of that boy, and others who came before.

And then a new thing happens, proving to the house that there will always be surprises to come. Two of the residents approach the visitors in clear interest. One is the last to have drawn breath in this building. The other is his partner, his soulmate, drawn back to this house just this afternoon, with the fresh smell of antiseptic in the air around him. From a hospital. The house imagines someone is currently collecting his last possessions and preparing to commit his flesh to the ground, hundreds of miles from here. Though the house is also sure that here is the only home this man has ever truly known.

A pulse of energy bursts from the two of them that the house hasn't seen before. The living men stop talking, one wrapping fingers around the other's arm as he presses a hand against his thigh. They wait, barely breathing, even the air becoming extra still. The house watches as memories take them over, and the building is transported back to another time.

* * *

**Buck**

He's dreaming. Buck has to be dreaming. He's in an old house with creaky floorboards and light streaming in from a beautiful day outside. Through the window he sees a beautiful Camero sitting on the drive. The front yard is freshly swept, and he might, if he feels like it, grab a beer and go sit on the porch. There is nothing else he needs to be doing today, so, why not?

With a cold beer in hand, Buck opens the front door, sitting on the bench they put out there just last week. It needs pillows, though Buck can't be bothered to go back inside yet. It's too nice out here. And it's good to have fresh air. Buck watches butterflies on the breeze, the swaying of the tree at the corner of the yard that they'll have to look in to getting cut back a little so it doesn't encroach on the path out front. Though more than anything, Buck's eyes are on the house opposite, forgetting all pretense of not staring impatiently as he sees the front door begin to crack open.

Heat pools in his stomach. An ache of longing clenches around his heart. His entire body sings for just being in sight of the one person in this world he wants the most. And as the man leans on the porch railings on his forearms, a bottle of beer twirling between his fingers, Buck feels a tug, a sense of homecoming, unshakable knowledge that everything is now right. His heart is in his throat, hot tears stinging behind his eyes, and his arms trembling as he makes a gesture like he might reach right across the street from where he's standing. It's _him_. Buck's everything. His reason for being. His peace and tranquility no matter the storm raging around him.

"Eddie?"

* * *

**Athena**

This is what she gets for showing interest. This is what happens when she checks a psych evaluation is being called for, and that a man isn't being left to rot in a cell. Jacob Ness. The man who is currently stood, or at least sat, between Athena and getting back out there on the road. Though maybe, since it's Halloween, she should be grateful for a little reprieve. She isn't yet.

"I already looked into the history of that house," Jacob says then, which feels out of nowhere. They've barely been introduced.

Athena feels like he's been talking for hours and needs a break from it already, though is also oddly fascinated. She gets up to get them both cups of water, then nods for him to continue.

"I think I traced it as some form of residence back to about 1880, maybe a little later. I think the house took on its current form, or at least was built on the same plot, around 1890, 1892. It still has fittings for candelabras and gaslighting from before the house had electricity. There were storage cellars of sorts beneath the house for keeping food preserved, like larders. There were rumors that one of the original house builders fell while it was still in construction, breaking a leg. And they left him there," Jacob adds with a look of disgust. "Imagine owning a home built on the bones of someone. Awful."

"I'm sure the last occupants weren't aware of such things," Athena adds, even if the very thought makes her blood run cold. What history is there in her house? She wants to know, though also doesn't.

"I've no idea. I looked into the place up until about 1950, then gave up when I had a lot on at work. Maybe I'll get back to it. That place has some history. The front room was an impromptu doctor's surgery at one point. It's been used as an overflow for an orphanage that's long since closed, which I doubt was even legal back in 1900 when it happened. Something like fifteen kids have been born in that house at some point. I think it was some sort of temporary refuge for rioters and protests back when there was a ban on public speaking. I think at least four families lived there up until 1850, probably more."

"So, you keep protesting, or whatever it is you're doing, every Halloween, but you aren't interested in knowing its history since 1950 onward? Aren't you invested in this place so much you can't keep away?"

Jacob shrugs, slowly sipping his water. "If I learn about how it was more recently, I don't know if I'd stay. If I don't like what I read. I need to live on that street."

* * *

**Buck**

He fell. Didn't he fall? Buck blinks his eyes in the darkness expecting his vision to clear after a few seconds, waving his hand in front of his face and seeing nothing at all. Buck ignores the way his heart is racing and pushes himself over on to his knees, groaning as he goes. Slow breaths, he tells himself, resting his hands on his thighs, sure he can taste the dust in the air.

The house. The old house. They just came on a call there to put out some fire. Buck smells no smoke, and there is no heat to suggest burning. He and Eddie fell through some stairs and—

"Eddie?"

"Buck?"

Buck pats the surrounding floor, recoiling for all the unfamiliar textures, convinced he knows the feel of cold bone. He knows both relief and panic when his fingers brush against a pant leg, gripping what he hopes is Eddie's shin, and squeezing. "I'm here. That you, Eddie?"

"Yeah. What happened?"

Eddie sounds like he's been punched in the stomach. Buck pats his hand up his body both checking that Eddie is okay and needing the anchor of contact. He is better the moment he feels Eddie's hand on his, helping him to sit up. Eddie's face lands on his shoulder, his breath panting against Buck's skin. Buck rests one hand on the back of his head as the other clasps Eddie's arm, grateful for the weight of Eddie's hand around his thigh.

"I guess we found a rotten step or something up there," Buck says, for realizing he hasn't answered Eddie's question.

"It didn't look all that rotten."

"I suppose."

"Buck. It's pitch black in here, right? I'm not imagining that, am I?"

"No. I mean, yeah; it's pretty dark. I can't see anything."

"And you're okay?" Eddie says, patting his hand against Buck's chest before dropping it back against his leg.

"No breaks. Nothing ripped."

"Not like that playground where someone thought they could climb up a slide and do the splits to get over the top of it?"

Buck remembers the sensation of his pants ripping on a call to a kid getting stuck in a climbing frame, and the roar of laughter that had followed.

"No rips. I'm good, Eddie."

"Good."

"And you?"

"I feel like I got the wind knocked out of me. I'm pretty sure tomorrow, or whenever, I'll be finding a fair few bruises. But yeah; I'm good."

"Good."

Buck wants to say something about how they should get out of here, and thinks he should suggest that they at least try to move. But he's tired, so very, very tired, the air so heavy and pressing into him. So instead, he lets himself focus on Eddie's breathing, more relieved that he is safe than he can say. He closes his eyes since it's too dark to see anything anyway, promising himself five minutes before they try to go anywhere.

* * *

**Athena**

"Listen. I don't mean to be rude, but are you charging me with something here?" Jacob asks, rolling his now empty water cup between his hands until it gives.

Athena waggles her fingers for it, crushing it with her own and throwing them in the trash. "Why? You got some big Halloween party to get to?"

"No. But I do have several buckets of candy still for trick and treaters."

Athena looks at the time on her laptop. "Are you really expecting kids to be trick and treating at nine o'clock?"

Jacob's shoulders sag. "No. I suppose not."

"Think of it as an extra treat for you when you eventually get out of here." Which will be soon. Athena has no doubts that she'll be letting him go just as soon as this interview is over.

Jacob sits up again, looking happier, his hands steepled together against the desk. "Actually, there's a group home near me that I can drop them off at. Place for kids waiting to be fostered and adopted. I've taken stuff before; at least I know all that candy will get eaten. I bought way too much for me to get through on my own."

"See? You seem like good people, Jacob," Athena says, convinced yet again that this whole thing is pointless. Jacob doesn't seem like the troublemaker he's being painted as.

"I'm not the worst."

"You did stand in the street screaming for hours."

"I wasn't screaming. And I was trying to protect people."

"From an old, abandoned house?"

Jacob sighs, dropping back in his seat, his hands dropping to his lap. "I don't think you'd understand."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Buck**

"Buck?"

Buck keeps his grip on Eddie's arm needing his presence to steady him. His mouth is dry and dusty, his joints aching and the back of his head thudding like someone took a bat to it; presumably from how they fell. Though how did they fall? Where did they fall from? If he looks up and makes his neck ache in the process, there isn't so much as a pinprick of light overhead. Have they fallen, rolled away from beneath that staircase? How else could they explain where they are?

"Buck."

"Yeah."

"We should... we need to move, right? You can move, can't you?"

Buck tests his limbs for a second time, thankful and surprised that he is intact. "I think so?"

Does Eddie feel the same reluctance he does, like a fog is pressing in on his chest and holding him in place? He'd ask, but Buck is too busy trying not to focus on the fact that they are trapped somewhere in the depths of that awful looking house they came to put a fire out in. Is the fire out? Are the 118 up there somewhere searching for them? He can't hear footfall, can't hear anything aside from his and Eddie's breathing.

Buck does know that they aren't alone. They can't be. There is too much forced stillness in the room like people are watching them. He is trying not to focus on the fact that when he put his hand out to feel for his surroundings, his fingers wrapped around what he can only assume is a femur. One free of flesh, one that became nothing but bone long ago. If they move, if they go looking, what other horrors are they going to find down here?

"We need to move," Eddie says again, even if his voice betrays him by revealing he hasn't any idea about going anywhere.

"We should."

"Can you?"

"I don't know."

"We can't just sit here, Buck," Eddie says, exasperated at the pair of them.

Buck doesn't feel like his limbs are his own. Even his thoughts feel distant, as though he might be viewing them from behind steamed-up glass. He is drawn to Eddie, in ways beyond their usual simmering attraction that the two of them know is happening but refuse to acknowledge after years of doing this dance around one another. Now couldn't be worse timing or in the worst place.

Though it is not Eddie he is drawn to, and it is not him who is drawn. There is a name on the tip of Buck's tongue when he looks in Eddie's direction, and even in the pitch dark, he can see a face that is not Eddie's own.

* * *

**Raymond**

One day when he twitches back the curtain and sees Henry leave the house, Raymond's heart won't race like it is trying to escape his chest. His stomach might not drop either, this complicated mix of fear and excitement churning over and over until he can't breathe. It's the same as he feels when Henry is right in front of him; breathing easier and gasping for breath at the same time. He watches him climb the steps of the house, drops the curtain and flattens a hand over his chest, then walks towards the front door with as little haste as he can convince his feet to allow.

"Casserole," Henry says the moment Raymond has the door open, waving the dish between his hands. "Ruth made extra for you, what with Joan being away."

Joan. Raymond's wife. His wife who has taken their children to visit her ailing sister and won't be back in town for another week. He has friends who laugh at him for being so liberal with his wife, for giving her freedoms that few women get to enjoy. If only they knew. If only they could see how much Joan gives him, how much she loves him regardless of everything. These men, they aren't really men, only chauvinists stuck in another time.

"Please tell her thank you," Raymond replies, following Henry as he walks through to the kitchen he is almost as familiar with as his own. Joan and Henry's wife Ruth became friends the moment they moved into their street, their kids raised together ever since they were born. It is good to have neighbors who are such good people, friends they can trust and depend on right there on their doorstep. It makes this deception harder, because as willing as dear Joan is to turn a blind eye, Ruth is still very much in the dark. Though how can they tell anyone?

"I will." Henry clenches his fists down by his sides repeatedly, his nervous energy making him seem like he is hovering on the spot. Raymond tries to ignore it, tries to ignore his draw to Henry as he always does.

"Do you two have plans?"

"No plans. Not now, anyway. We're having a game of cards at the Newman's tonight. That's why Ruth made casserole, so we could have something quick to eat before we go. Though I don't know too much about how quick this will be," he adds, tapping on the side of the casserole dish with a soft sigh and pensive smile.

"Ruth is a wonderful cook."

"So's Joan."

"They're good women," Raymond adds because one of them has to say it, every time. They have to, they can't forget, they can't make light of this wrong they are doing. Though how else are they supposed to go on?

"We're lucky to have them," Henry agrees, his hand trembling as he raises it, letting it come to rest on Raymond's hip.

Raymond stumbles forward, both willing and unwillingly, swallowing thickly as he lets his hand fall on Henry's chest. So firm. So solid. So reassuring. Like he's putting him back together purely with his touch. "How long do we have?"

"A couple of hours. Ruth said I should do something to keep you company what with Joan being away," he adds with a rueful, guilty smile.

"I don't know if she meant like this."

"No. I'm sure she didn't."

Raymond strokes his hand up Henry's chest, curling his fingers around the nape of his neck. How is it fair that the only thing in this world that has ever made sense, that ever completed him, is the one thing that could also break him apart? "I need you," he croaks out, because what is the point in pretending otherwise? Especially if they have a stretch of hours to share instead of snatched minutes.

"I'm yours. Forever," Henry replies. His words settle the pounding in Raymond's heart as finally, he closes the last gap between them, a sigh of relief blasting against his lips as they kiss, after far too many hours apart.

* * *

**Athena**

"So, you don't like the house. And that's why you were standing there, protesting in front of it?" Athena knows how ridiculous the question sounds. An abandoned house on an otherwise affluent street, a place that's been put up for demolition more than once in the past couple of decades only to have everything go wrong. Athena has read through the small amount of paperwork she has on the property Jacob Ness was arrested in front of. None of this tracks. Nothing about this doesn't seem a waste of time.

She might be even more pissed this is a job that's fallen on her, were there not a part of her so interested, and still so intrigued by this man before her. A man who looks perfectly ordinary, calm and poised behind a red plaid shirt and thick, bushy beard. His hair is like Buck's at its curliest, like the time he was in her and Bobby's back yard having a water fight with May, when the actual kids at the party looked on in confusion.

"It's a bad house," Jacob says, with a slight movement that might be a one-shoulder shrug.

"So, what; you were hoping to deter people going in?"

"No one on our street even looks at it in passing. It just attracts people from around the neighborhood, maybe a little further afield sometimes, to come digging around. I don't know why people can't just leave things be."

"Let me ask you a question."

"Shoot."

"Why don't you just leave it to the authorities to deal with? Or just leave the house as it is?"

"The _authorities_?" he says, smiling in amusement. "That house. People have warned the _authorities_ about it for more years than I care to remember. It needs boarding up, properly, or it needs pulling down and flattening out altogether. Nobody listens."

"Well. I don't know if you're aware of this, but we can't just bulldoze property without the owner's consent."

"Are you telling me the authorities in this country always ask for consent before destroying property? Before doing anything they want?"

Athena has no answer to that. "Either way. It's not your responsibility to be standing outside that house screaming for people to get away."

"I wasn't screaming. In fact, I'm interested to know who reported me for being there. I can't think of a single neighbor who would, and I know every person on that damn street."

"The patrol car spotted you—"

"And decided, what, I was shifty-looking? Or did they know I would be outside that house because I've done this before, and they wanted an easy arrest to fill their quota?"

Athena can't answer that either, even though that's exactly what the report suggests. She's seen some bullshit charges and accusations in her time, had first-hand experience of them with what happened when Michael was stopped. This case here? Not one part of it sits right for her. Though as she tries to find a way to say words that will make some kind of sense, she sees an email for alerts ping up on the laptop screen to her side. _Fire crew called to derelict house for suspected fire. Two crew members missing. Firehouse 118._

* * *

**Buck**

They've moved. Buck doesn't know how. He has a vague recollection of crawling, though none that it was him making his own limbs move. They are still in complete darkness, though there is an echo of light in his mind from a memory that doesn't belong to him, a flickering flame of a gaslight casting shadows over the walls. There is softness beneath his knees and palms, thick, like padding, or blankets. He even touches what he is sure is a pillow. Moving around is stirring up all kinds of soot and dust that makes him cough and recoil.

"You still with me, Buck?" Eddie asks, still holding on to him. They haven't let go of one another since they woke. They haven't so far shared these thoughts they are having that aren't their own, though Buck knows without question Eddie is experiencing them too. He would be more frightened otherwise, more terrified of being alone in this house. Eddie's presence is steadying him, separate from the connection between whoever it is in their shared thoughts.

"Yeah, Eddie. Still here."

"I think they liked this place."

"I presume it must be far more welcoming with a little light."

_"You came home."_

Buck freezes for the unfamiliar voice, sure from the close blast of breath that accompanies it, it is Eddie speaking, as much as he knows it isn't Eddie at all.

"...Eds?"

_"You came back to me."_

A soft breeze brushes over Buck in a caress, joy-filled and loving though still putting terror in his heart. He shakes Eddie to get his attention, squeezing his arm and pleading with him not to have fallen asleep.

"...Buck?"

"I'm here. Are you here? Eddie—"

"I'm here, Buck. Are you okay?"

"I'm so tired. So tired, Buck. I could sleep, right here."

"Please don't."

"They slept here sometimes. They stayed here," Eddie adds in soft wonder, reverence in his voice that in other circumstances would be sweet, even reassuring. "This was their place. Their place away from the world."

"I think so." Buck knows it. He can see this couple, these people in their thoughts, in this space, cocooned away from disapproving eyes. He can feel the love they have for one another, as though an echo of it fills the air in the room. Oh, to be loved so much, to have found the one person in the world to spend an entire lifetime with. To know without question there is a place for him to belong.

Eddie is talking to him, his words muffled as he clasps over his hand and back. His tone is worried, though Buck doesn't know why. Why would he worry? They have everything they need here, in this warm little haven away from everyone they know.

"Buck," he makes out hearing, louder and more insistent than anything else.

Buck moves his mouth to answer, though it isn't his own words that make it out. It isn't his breath that rasps from him like he hasn't tasted air for the longest time.

_"Love. Forever. Home."_

* * *

**Raymond**

"Can you imagine if we were free to do this all the time?" Henry says, still panting as they get their breath back. The old gas lantern lighting this small room beneath the house that Raymond discovered when decorating casts the most beautiful shadows across Henry's skin, fascinating him so much he doesn't feel like talking. "Wouldn't you like that?" Henry adds when Raymond doesn't answer.

Raymond rolls on to his side, splaying his fingers on Henry's stomach that is still clammy from their efforts, and means they'll both soon need a bath. Wouldn't it be nice one day if they could share that bath?

"I'd love that," he says, bending down to kiss him, closing his eyes for the warm fingers at his waist tugging him closer still. This room, shut off from the world on a tangle of blankets slowly accumulated over the last few months, is their haven. Undiscovered by their wives, and their kids, Raymond is pretty sure there are other hidden rooms beneath this house as well. Storage rooms, perhaps, or hiding places; Raymond doesn't know hiding from what but does know instinct tells him he should not be seeking out other places besides this one. He isn't a superstitious man, but even he knows to leave certain things untouched.

"I love you," Henry whispers, breaking Raymond from his thoughts, stroking his hand up his side to cradle the back of his head, pulling him into another kiss.

Raymond could kiss him forever. Forever and always. If the guilt he feels about deceiving and ruining their families didn't hit him so hard every time he even considers them disappearing, if that would let up, the two of them would be out of here. Though where would they go? What work would they do? What kind of fathers would they be to their children, who are the most innocent of all in all this? Every time one of them gets the strength to talk about going, the other one convinces them not to, because of all the fallout.

But he wants to. He wants to be with Henry, to know what it is to wake beside him every morning and fall asleep holding on to him every night. He wants their moments together to be free ones, open for all to see, where they can be proud and happy together. Raymond wants to give Henry the world. He keeps himself going with the thought that, one day, he might. "I love you. Forever."

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Buck**

"I'm so tired," Eddie says, which is the thing to jolt Buck awake. He's relieved Eddie is still clinging on to him for the welling up of panic he has for forgetting his surroundings. Buck feels Eddie's heart racing too, running his hand up his arm hoping to offer some comfort.

"Yeah, me too. Kinda thirsty."

"We should've had more juice."

"That was a good dinner."

"Yeah. I've never eaten so well," Eddie says, and then freezes. "Just... don't tell Abuela I said that?"

Buck laughs, and circles his thumb over Eddie's arm, sure he can get away with it for the mess they are in. Eddie has always been beautiful to him, but this MMA he's been doing is making him more solid. There is muscle definition there right beneath his thumb pad, and Buck has to check himself before he gets too carried away exploring. Eddie doesn't seem to mind.

"Hey, if you convince her to make that thing with all the herbs and spices in, I'll keep your secrets."

"I tell you what. I'll ask her to make a pan for you and me when she next has Christopher. I'll come to yours, beat you at some games. Make a night of it."

"How am I supposed to refuse an offer like that?" Buck asks, already excited for the thought. As much as he can be, anyway, for them being trapped here like they are. At least they have something to look forward to after they work out how to get out.

"You're not. Just accept it's happening."

Buck loves that Eddie invites himself over to his so freely, almost as much as he has an open invitation to Eddie's whenever he wants. He has clothes to sleep in when he spends the night on Eddie's couch, and they both have keys for each other's places. He even loves that when Eddie joined the MMA gym, he also planned his sessions around their days off, so they could still spend time together. Eddie even came over with a bunch of seeds and pots after a session because Buck mentioned he was thinking of growing vegetables on his balcony. So far, their pizza nights have seen some homegrown tomato and a type of pepper he doesn't remember the name of just now added to their toppings.

Eddie is the best friend Buck has ever had. He is sure it could be more than that too, for the nights they've ended up asleep on the couch together, and how they can talk for hours without running out of things to say. In fact, if there were anyone in the world he had to be trapped in this house with when not entirely sure of how they got there, or how they'll get out, then it would be Eddie. That he's holding on to him so tightly just now, like he needs him close just as much, is helping Buck not panic as much as he might be doing.

"Okay. Full confession, Eddie. I really don't like houses like this. Like, not at all."

Buck would swear Eddie stirs his chin against his neck before sitting up a little, though still not releasing his grip on him.

"Can't say I like them all that much either. But I feel like you've got a story here."

"I do."

"Well. I'm thinking, we probably have time?"

Buck thinks he should be more concerned than he is that they aren't making the effort to move just yet, or that they have moved somewhere again, but he doesn't know how. He also should dwell on how easy it feels to start sharing a memory from his childhood. There is no one but Eddie who can bring his words to the surface on even the most difficult subjects. So even if it is an abridged version he tells, of the house on their street when he was little that filled his heart with dread and fear every time they walked or drove by, it feels good that he can talk about it knowing Eddie won't mock him for it. He might tease a little later, but seems to know enough of Buck's discomfort just to keep hold of him.

"I didn't realize Halloween got to you so much," Eddie says when he's finished, gently kneading at his thigh. His arm is secure around Buck's back, fingers curled just at his waist. Buck feels safe and cared for, and a part of him doesn't want to go anywhere.

"Halloween itself doesn't bother me all that much. That house, though, when I was growing up. This place just makes me think about that. I didn't like it. I don't like it."

"Tell you what. We get out of here, you come stay at mine for the night. I'll even let you sleep with the lights on."

"Deal. I'll even cook breakfast."

"I'll put in a request now for extra, whatever it is."

"Done."

"And we should talk. About all of this," Eddie adds, with a sweep of thumb over Buck's waist.

Buck's mouth is dry when he tries to answer. "Which _all of this_?"

"All of it. Both things. This place, all that's happening here. And, uh... our thing. We—it's been a while. We should do something about it. We should talk about it, at least."

"We have a thing?" Buck blurts out without meaning to, even as his heart is rejoicing. He smiles into the dark for hearing Eddie's amused click of tongue. His fingers dig into Eddie's arms when he feels a soft kiss to his jawline. "Eddie. Please tell me you did that."

"Did what?"

" _Eddie_."

"Okay, fine," Eddie says, laughing as he hugs him close, kissing an apology into the back of his hair. "That was me. Now we just... need to get out. So I can do that properly."

"Yeah." Buck knows that he needs to, his discomfort for even being in a place like this still there between this feeling that he shouldn't be moving anywhere. He is comfortable and being held, and knows the strangest feeling of belonging. So instead of fighting to move anywhere, he revels in having Eddie close, again promising himself they'll find their way out of here sometime soon.

* * *

**Athena**

"I was in that house."

Athena tries to focus on the man in front of her instead of worrying about Bobby and the rest of the 118. She knows she's only been contacted as a courtesy, that nothing else will be passed on to her until they know for sure what is going on. This man in front of her, that he could have answers, that he could be the key to whatever is happening out there, means she has to tread carefully. She has to keep him talking.

"When?" she asks, keeping her expression neutral.

"Bryan. You look up Bryan Moore, you'll see reports about him going missing. He went missing in that house. They searched when we told them. They searched, and they searched, and they searched. Didn't find so much as a scrap of clothing."

Athena's blood runs cold. More missing people? She types in the name on her computer and then feels sick when a file pops up with _Bryan Moore's_ face smiling out of the screen. Twelve years old. Missing. Presumed dead. Various tabloid headlines from the local newspapers speculating about him running away.

"What happened?"

"How would I know?" Jacob says in irritation. "The six of us were school friends. The house on my street had been empty a couple of years. One of us, I don't know which, came up with the bright idea of visiting for Halloween, because obviously, we were all far too mature for trick and treating by then."

"So, you went into the house. And, then what?"

"We poked around, looked in all the rooms, told ghost stories. Split up to look around some more."

"And then what?"

"I was in the living room when I heard him. Bryan. I heard a crack, a solid snapping kind of sound out there in the hallway. You've seen the place," Jacob adds, with a nervous darted glance around the room. "It echoes. It's loud. It's too much."

"Then what happened?"

"He fell. He screamed. He died, slowly, and we just... we listened. Frozen in place too scared to go anywhere, and then running from the house the moment our feet unstuck. I know everyone else in there felt the same; I could feel their fear in there. Not so much as made eye contact with a single one of them since. Brandon and Sean moved away. Andrew transferred schools. Eric became the cliche of a school bully shoving heads in lockers until he got a scholarship and went off somewhere to play baseball. Plays Minor League now. Some team up north; I heard about it once in a diner, how proud they were they had a celebrity from around here. A celebrity," he repeats for emphasis, scoffing in disdain.

Athena holds on to all the impatience waging war in her for not being able to get this thing fixed, now. She makes herself get another cup of water, flattening her hands against the desk when she sits. Athena breathes deeply before she even considers finding a way to answer him. "Well. Right now, we have two firefighters lost in that house, who went in there with nothing but good intentions."

"Somebody set a fire in there?" Jacob asks in surprise, visibly recoiling.

"Yes. In the kitchen."

"Then, believe me. You'll probably be missing more people than just those two firefighters. That house, it doesn't like... intruders."

"The house doesn't like intruders." Athena tries to keep the disdain from her voice.

"You can mock me all you want, believe me, or don't. But that house... trust me. Please trust me. I wouldn't be surprised by how many people you might find went missing, right in that house."

"If there is anything you can tell me, that might help me find those people—"

"There is no hope. There isn't. Haven't you heard a word I've been saying? Haven't I been warning people for years about going in there? You don't listen. None of you do. I'm sorry, but these firefighters? They're gone."

* * *

**Buck**

There is music playing in a room somewhere in the house, distant and muted through ceilings and closed doors. Buck tries to strain his ear to listen better, half-convinced that it's not music at all but sirens he hears instead. Though for Eddie there beside him humming a tune that is unfamiliar to them both, and Buck sure he can feel his heart racing where his arm presses against Eddie's chest, sirens are probably not reaching his ears at all.

"Buck. Can you feel anything?" Eddie whispers. The silence in the house is so still, that this muted music is an assault on their ears, and their few words for one another still far too loud. Buck needs to answer his question, frightened to check but also needing to know for himself.

"Not really," he says, trying to move, trying to press forward and push against whatever it is holding him. He _is_ moving. Only he is being moved, not doing it autonomously. He can hear the exertion Eddie is forcing on himself trying to move as well, the slight scuffing of his feet against the floor revealing he is having no luck.

"What the hell is happening here, Buck?"

"I have no idea." Buck has his suspicions. He's grown up with horror stories of ghosts and all kinds of other things, never really talking about them with Eddie since it's one thing he hates being teased about. It's an irrational fear, of ghosts, possession, and having no control over himself. Anything else is fair game, but this? A childhood fear that kept him from sleeping more nights than he didn't? If Buck's heart doesn't pound right out of his chest for even considering what might be happening to him and around him, then he might be stronger than he thinks.

"I'm not doing any of this," Eddie says, his voice on edge and distressed. It's still pitch black, Buck can't see a thing, though in his mind he sees Eddie—Raymond—pacing back and forth across this tiny room. Eddie isn't moving at all so how can that be happening? Buck imagines he is following him, offering comfort that isn't his to give. Henry is in his thoughts, in anguish, terrified and broken-hearted, and sorrowful all at the same time. What happened here? Why are there such mixed emotions in his heart all at once, love and sorrow and loss competing for prominence?

"No. Me neither."

"They're hurting. They're so sad. So scared," Eddie adds, with all of Raymond's devastation in his voice.

"What happened here?" Buck asks, even if he knows Eddie has no answer. Even if he knows without question that the truth will soon be revealed to them, whether they want to learn it or not.

* * *

**Raymond**

"But she knows. She knows, Raymond. She knows everything," Henry cries, clutching on to Raymond so tightly he's losing circulation in his arms. He won't let go of him, frightened that if he does, either Henry will fall, or he will. Right now Raymond thinks his knees might buckle anyway.

"What does she know? Ruth? What did she see?" he asks, trying to be gentle even if his voice is cracking, his whole world falling apart.

"We were so careful. So careful," Henry says as he cries again. It's too much. Raymond gathers him close, the two of them then dropping to the couch because the room is spinning, and he hasn't any power to stop it.

"What happened, love?" Raymond asks. _Love_. He does love Henry, deeply and completely, in an entirely different way than he loves Joan. Maybe Joan can talk to Ruth. Maybe Joan can help them solve this problem. Though that is so much to ask of Joan. Hasn't his beautiful, tender wife shown him and Henry all the patience and privacy in the world already?

"She heard us on the porch. Talking. But she understood everything."

Yesterday. The world ended yesterday, then. Raymond and Joan had been over to Henry and Ruth's for dinner, all their kids playing together in the backyard. They'd had a feast, celebrating a long weekend, the two families happily watching the sunset and enjoying the last of the day's heat.

They hadn't meant to, he and Henry, hadn't meant to sneak away and talk out of sight making promises and plans for their next moments together whenever they might get them. Raymond thinks he was the one who pulls him in, to rest his hand on Henry's hip like he's done so many times. And now they've been revealed. Now Ruth knows everything. Joan is at the grocery store so thankfully isn't hearing any of this, because even though she knows, having evidence of this affair is still going to be hell.

"What did she say? What did she want?" Raymond asks. Ruth is a good, kind woman, and it's devastating to know they've hurt her. Though not as devastating as the thought of being away from Henry. Raymond doesn't think he knows how to be without him, not now.

"She wants to move. She gave me an ultimatum. Either we sell and move, together, to Denver so she can be near her parents, or we'll divorce. She'll take the kids. I'll never see them again. Or I'll never see you again."

They can't win this. There is no way out of this now. No matter how understanding Joan is, there is nothing in the world that will stop Henry from giving Ruth what she's asking for. He can't not be a father to his children. He can't not support the wife who thought she was in a loving marriage to him. Henry is too good, and Raymond loves him for it, but there is no way his heart can take any of this loss.

"When? How?"

"She wants us to leave. Tomorrow," Henry says through his tears, his words choked and thick. "She wants us to stay with her parents for now until we find a new place. Until we sell that one."

Raymond thinks of Henry and Ruth's house opposite. How is he supposed to pass it every day knowing some other family has moved in to replace his love? He wants to fight. He wants to plead and to protest, but beneath all Henry's tears, he sees his determination. Raymond couldn't love him more if he tried.

"We talked about this. That this might happen one day. Maybe not like this," Raymond adds, thumbing a tear away from Henry's cheek. He's trying to comfort him. He's trying to absorb some of the shock of all this news, and can't make sense of any of it.

Henry turns his head to get a kiss to his hand, tumbling forward and pressing his face in Raymond's neck. "That doesn't make it any easier."

"No. It doesn't."

"How long do we have? Before Joan is back?"

Raymond closes his eyes. How is he to explain Henry and Ruth's absence to her, despite her probably knowing all she does? "Not long. Half an hour?"

"It's not enough," Henry sobs, burrowing closer still.

His lover, his life, his everything; how is Raymond ever going to stop wanting this? But he can't do anything to fix it. He'll wake tomorrow to a world with Henry gone. He can't have their last moments together spent in sadness and sorrow. Even if the moment Henry leaves him forever, Raymond knows he might fall apart.

"Then, one last dance?" Raymond says, kissing the top of Henry's head and standing, putting on music and holding out his shaky hand. Henry sobs as he pulls him to his feet, and sobs as he holds him, the two of them dancing in Raymond's living room wishing time would stand still.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Athena**

"The house wasn't always like that," Jacob says, as Athena searches through the records on the screen looking for something, anything that might make a bit of difference.

"What do you mean, not always like that?"

"1990. When we went in that house when it was... when it was bad. It wasn't always like that."

"No?"

"I was twelve then. Four years earlier, I half-remember a couple in there. Mid-50s, probably. The wife moved away when the husband died. I think she had a family home somewhere else, or she went to stay with one of their two sons. I don't know for sure. And the house was fine, for the next couple of years. No one came to claim it. The yard was overgrown, obviously, but it wasn't all that bad. And then out of nowhere, when I was ten, my last year of trick and treating, that house. Something happened to it. Something awful, right after we had this huge storm that lasted for days. The atmosphere around it. The look of it. Noises were coming from it sometimes, I'm sure of it. Of course, it could all be warped in my kid imagination," Jacob adds with an absent wave at his head.

"Do you know what happened? To make it like that?"

"As I said. I was ten."

There has to be something. Athena searches what she can and finds the names Raymond and Joan Miller listed as the property owners. Raymond, she sees, died of a heart attack in 1986. As far as she can tell, Joan is still alive, though she will have to do more digging to find out where. There is nothing she can see to suggest why, just two years later according to Jacob, the house would go from empty to this derelict mess it is in now.

"I saw things sometimes," Jacob adds then in a tone that puts a shudder down Athena's spine.

"Such as?"

"People. At least the outline of people. At the windows sometimes. I took Jasper—our dog—out once and had to cross the street right outside the house. Usually, I tried to stay on our side of the street, or at least not cross until before or after the house. But there was this huge dog on a leash pulling their owner along, so I had to."

"So? What happened at the house?"

"Jasper's ears went flat against his head when we started passing, all his hackles up. And I would swear, even now, some... I don't even know how many years later. I would swear I saw the outline of a couple on the front porch. Dancing."

* * *

**Raymond**

There are people in his house. Old people. And young people. Each of them dressed like they are from other times. They watch him without speaking as Raymond paces around the halls, up the stairs, looking into each of the rooms. Joan isn't here. He knew she was talking about visiting some family; maybe that would explain her absence. But the house is cold. No clothes hang in their closets. There isn't a single bottle, toothbrush, or towel in the bathroom. The kitchen is bare. Even the fridge is turned off. Raymond feels like he has been walking through this house looking for _something_ for years.

The house is cold in other ways. When Joan is here, it is a bright, airy place, filled with color and amusement. He and his wife don't have the most conventional of marriages, though they are the very best of friends. He misses her, though not like he misses his beloved Henry, wherever he might be these days. If Raymond closes his eyes he can picture them dancing, whirling around the living room he stands in now.

Dear Henry. They never wrote, never contacted one another again after Ruth gave her ultimatum and they moved away. Joan was so good to him. Raymond knows he is far luckier than he deserves. Though a part of his heart died when he watched Henry and Ruth driving away for the last time.

He's lived since, of course, securing promotions at the insurance firm he works for, giving him and Joan a comfortable life. She deserves it, the very best of everything. Every vacation she chose, every renovation of the house, every appliance she wanted. None of it will erase his guilt, or ease the burden Raymond feels for loving someone so much that isn't her, but he's tried. All these years, he's tried, and now the house is empty, he can't help asking himself, for what?

It's been around twenty years since he last saw Henry. Raymond presses his hand over the ache in his heart that has plagued him these past few days. Maybe his heart is finally breaking, so torn for not loving Joan how she deserves to be loved, and loving Henry more each day despite his absence. The pain is like a bruise, though flares out through his chest leaving him in agony. He'd see someone, talk to a doctor about it, though what could they do about a broken heart?

As Raymond paces, he makes another loop of the stairs, up to the top floor and then down again, pausing when he catches his reflection in the bedroom mirror. Only it's not his reflection he sees when he stands in front of it, only his absence. The mirror is empty. He stands, looking for himself for several long minutes, that pain in his heart easing even as it flutters and races.

Raymond tears himself away, running for the bathroom and seeing his absence in the mirror there too, then rushing downstairs for the glass doors that lead out to the yard. He isn't there either. Though when Raymond turns he sees all those people watching him in silence, raising his hand to his chest for the phantom pain there as he starts to understand. His screams of frustration at being gone too soon, of never having the chance to see his love again, will be the first time anyone on this street knows fear when they look at the house.

* * *

**Buck**

There is love and laughter in Buck's heart that doesn't belong to him. He feels Henry smile like he's come home, and knows the softness of Raymond's fingers laced through his own. Raymond pulls Henry in; Buck is pressed tightly against Eddie's chest with the most conflicted of feelings, sure he sees the confused emotions he feels in Eddie's eyes even in the near dark.

Buck has no idea how they got out of those rooms, how they have now found themselves in the living room of this decrepit house. He has a vague memory that he and Eddie were here, doing something before. He can't remember what. Buck only knows that they are dancing and that Raymond, and Henry, are happier than they have ever been. That they know peace, and joy for being together. That they are loved, and free to love.

Is this what it might feel like to dance with Eddie? To have his arms at his waist gently turning them around? What music would Eddie choose, were they dancing in his living room? Will either of them ever know love to the depth that Raymond and Henry share?

Eddie is in there, behind his own eyes, behind Raymond's; it is difficult to tell. Though Buck thinks he can see at least a glimmer of love shining out from them that is all Eddie, and all for him. They have talking to do, a lot of it, once they get over the strangeness of this night. Yet for feeling the love coursing through him and Eddie that is Raymond and Henry's, Buck gets the sense that everything will be alright.

* * *

**Athena**

Bobby's calling. Athena would normally ignore it for being with an interviewee, but she has to answer, has to know what is going on. She sags in relief, for hearing that Buck and Eddie have emerged from the house shaken but unscathed and that the rest of the crew is fine. The fire is out, and a thorough search has found no other people inside. The case might be closed, for now, though Athena wonders if someone will be contacting Joan about the house. Surely she'll need to do something to make it safer, perhaps board it up to prevent anyone else getting hurt.

"You said you thought there would be other people in the house?" Athena asks Jacob who watches her in interest from across the desk as she signs off on paperwork that will let him go home. It's clear there is no real reason for Jacob to be held here. His charges for loitering and offensive behavior will be forgotten before he even steps foot out of this precinct.

"There will be. I don't know if you'll ever find them, though. They never found Bryan, did they?" Jacob says as Athena slides paperwork across to him to sign.

He can't just be missing. He can't just have disappeared into thin air. Perhaps what Joan Miller needs to be contacted about is a full, in-depth search of her house.

"Well. You take care of yourself, Jacob," Athena says as she stands, ready to walk him out. It's been the strangest evening. Though when isn't it on Halloween? Every one she's worked in all her years serving has been different.

"I will. Thank you," Jacob replies, shaking her offered hand.

"Maybe stick to your own house, or just walking by that one for now. No more yelling on Halloween."

"Wasn't yelling. But okay," Jacob says, with a crinkly smile that softens his face. "Besides. If your friends found their way out of that house, something obviously shifted there tonight. Who knows? Maybe it'll just be an old abandoned house on my street that no one even thinks of visiting. Or maybe whatever was there, is now not. Or dormant. Resting, or something."

Athena doesn't know what to believe. But for knowing Eddie, Buck, and of course the rest of the crew are coming home safe, Athena decides she doesn't want to think on it again tonight.

* * *

**Raymond**

Henry's here. He's really here. Safe and whole and here in his arms. Raymond can't stop laughing, or smiling, or touching him, really. He pulls him in for a hug over and over, their hands never not reaching, or grasping. And his kiss, it is still as thrilling as it was so many years ago. Just as much a home as Henry has ever been to him.

"You haven't changed," Henry says in wonder, one hand at his cheek as he looks at Raymond with such love it's like his whole heart is rebuilding.

"Neither have you," Raymond replies, finding no aging, no laugh lines, nothing but the beautiful man who drove away from because he had to, years before now. He looks as perfect and wonderful as Henry had been the last time he stepped into this house.

This house is strange now, with its visitors and history, its occupants coming and going as though it has no walls. Raymond has grown used to it, walking from room to room replaying memories of his life here. Sometimes he makes it to the yard, remembering his boys when they were little, hoping they are out in the world somewhere living their lives to the full. And Joan, dear, sweet Joan, Raymond knows she will be somewhere filling the world with joy and delicateness because that is just the kind of wonderful person she is.

Raymond feels stronger now today than he has done in years, all his anguish and rage fluctuating over what must be decades, and every part of it now gone. It drained from him this afternoon when Henry appeared on the front porch, the house swinging the door open to let him inside. Raymond's entire being settled the moment he saw his face. He has everything he needs, right now, here in his arms.

The other occupants of this house aren't as lucky as him. They are alone in this afterworld where they can't move forward or step back, and they have nothing to ground them. Raymond keeps away when their rage surges at the intrusion of living people, though shared their anguish when their sadness striking out resulted in a fatal injury by one of them some years ago.

Some of these souls are here because their bones are beneath the premises, long forgotten and abandoned by the world. Raymond senses fresh bones will be joining them soon, the scent of soot and water floating through the air from the kitchen revealing the house's latest unwelcome visitors. Raymond and Henry, though, they will now continue on in their own little world away from it all, and isn't that the most wonderful feeling? To be alone with the one person you love without fear of disapproving eyes, or other hearts breaking? Who knows where they could travel now that they are whole again, for being with each other?

"We have a lot to talk about," Henry says, breaking Raymond from his thoughts, his eyes still filled with love as he smiles at him.

"We do. Though maybe not now? Not yet? You're staying, aren't you? With me?" Raymond adds, as though he doesn't already know the answer. Now that he can, he wants to give Henry the world. It is perhaps ironic that it took dying for them to have a chance at really living.

Henry smiles, dropping their foreheads together as they slowly dance, one hand splayed on Raymond's lower back to keep him close. "Always. Forever."

* * *

**Buck**

It's two in the morning. Bobby sent them home a few hours early after making sure they were checked over by paramedics and found to be okay. Buck is thankful for it. He pulls up on Eddie's drive watching him climb out of his car, taking a soft breath for courage before cutting the engine and climbing out himself. He stands behind Eddie as he unlocks the door, the house quiet when they step inside both for the early hour and Christopher staying at Abuela's.

"That was a pretty strange night," Eddie says, his voice low even in Christopher's absence.

"Yeah. It was." Buck is already bracing for Eddie to say he doesn't remember any of it, that the whole thing was caused by them hitting their heads or something. Not that anything happened between the two of them. Observing so close the love of two others has done something to them, though, hasn't it? All those looks and touches they've shared this past couple of years have meaning to them now.

"I'm kind of glad it happened like that," Eddie adds, and though he hesitates, lets his hand fall to rest on Buck's waist. Buck makes himself take a half step forward, pressing a hand to Eddie's chest.

"Yeah. Me too."

"Are you doing okay though, Buck? You said you don't like places like that." Eddie cups his face, searching it over in concern.

"I promise. I'm good. I'm fine. Really. All of me."

Eddie makes a noncommittal sound stroking his thumb over Buck's stubble, then opening his arms for a soft hug. Buck breathes him in, burying his face in Eddie's neck, knowing certainty and calmness for the feel of his chest pressed against his own. His breathing is calm, and his heart rate even like it hasn't been for hours.

"I'd say we should probably shower. But I don't know if I have the energy for that right now," Eddie says, pulling back though still holding on to his waist.

"I guess we should take advantage of these extra few hours of sleep."

"In my bed. I don't want you out on the couch again. I promise to be polite."

"Not too polite, maybe," Buck says, when Eddie smiles in tease, splaying his fingers at his lower back so his thumb tucks beneath his shirt.

"No?"

"Really no."

"Okay."

And as simple as that, Eddie cradles his face between his hands to kiss Buck for the first time, sweet, slow, and grounding. It's like they've kissed a thousand times before. This is an exciting new beginning, as much as it is a homecoming. Buck never wants to be without Eddie again.


End file.
